Organia: The Tragedy of Kenneth Wescott
by Torlek
Summary: The ultimate downfall of a peacetime Federation president after the brief war with the Klingons
1. Preface

_**Over 200 years after the signing of the Organian Peace Treaty, the real tragedy of the Federation president at that time has been revealed…**_

_**  
**_

**PART I: DECEPTION**

**_The focus shifts to a very tall and large government building that houses the Federation's government on Earth. Its structure is akin to that of a very tall pyramid (as opposed to a "flat" one). Inside is a combined museum and virtual library - closed for the night except to an old man and his security entourage nearby. Within a restricted-access room, he and his niece are in the middle of a conversation…_**

JULIUS JOSEPHUS  
"It's 'human nature' - as was once said - to desire more power, in anything. The people in Starfleet Security and the agents of Section 31 are, in truth, more similar than most people know. The only real difference lies in how much they can wiggle around in order to achieve their goals."

SUBCOMMANDER MAJOR  
"Section 31? Its people care only about power for its own sake!"

JULIUS JOSEPHUS  
"Well, I think that now is the right time to explain why you and I are here in this restricted-access chamber of the library-museum, where a lot of state secrets are hidden until ready for de-classification. Do you remember the Organian Peace Treaty?"

SUBCOMMANDER MAJOR  
"That was elementary-school material!"

JULIUS JOSEPHUS  
"You remember Kenneth Wescott, the one who preceded Lorne McLaren as Federation president? See... Wescott, who presided during the rather brief Klingon-Federation war, was himself an agent of Section 31."

SUBCOMMANDER MAJOR  
"What!"

JULIUS JOSEPHUS  
"Calm down, my dear. Anyway, unknown to his secret comrades, he was quite idealistic - his official stances while in office were for real, and when he met in secret, he paid lip service to pragmatism, successfully deceiving his comrades into thinking that his public idealism was a facade."

**PART II: FAILED IDEALISM**

"During the peace negotiations, he didn't do much to try to salvage them, knowing full well that they would break down; he withdrew from his idealism."

**PART III: PRIME DIRECTIVE**

"When they were on the verge of collapse, he went back to said idealism and stood by the Prime Directive, even as Starfleet Security flouted it when it sent Kirk. Shifting back again somewhat, he then attempted to 'persuade' key Starfleet Security officials to uphold the Prime Directive, but to no avail."

**PART IV: ULTIMATUM**

AYELBORNE  
As I stand here, I also stand upon the home planet of the Klingon Empire and the home planet of your Federation, Captain. I'm putting a stop to this insane war!

It is being done.

Unless both sides agree to an immediate cessation of hostilities, all your armed forces, wherever they may be, will be immediately immobilized!

**PART V: TRAGEDY**

"When the treaty was signed, his tragic fall was all but assured. His relative inaction during the peace talks, combined with a dedicated Starfleet effort to bring him down over his utmost dedication to the Prime Directive, led to his downfall. Just a few decades ago, his legacy was marred further - although not in public - by the discovery of his affiliation with Section 31, which has been kept secret here since."

SUBCOMMANDER MAJOR  
"So, Starfleet Security and Section 31 are similar indeed..."

_Credits:_

DeCandido, K.R.A. STAR TREK: Articles of the Federation. Pocket Books, 2005.  
"Errand of Mercy." STAR TREK. Prod. Gene L. Coon. Perf. William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy. Desilu Productions, 23 Mar. 1967.

_STAR TREK_ and related names are trademarks of Paramount Pictures, and are used under "fair use" guidelines. All rights reserved.


	2. Voices

**Voices**

All too serene was the surface of Paradise, even in the midst of civil war elsewhere in Federation space. Particularly all too serene was the Council and Government District, in spite of increased security measures. Towering above all other skyscrapers within the nearby horizon was the near-pyramidal seat of Federation power itself.

It is nighttime, and somewhere inside this colossal structure is a combined museum and virtual library. It is unusual to have people inside this particular place – especially during closed hours. Yet there they were: an old man in an anti-grav chair, a security entourage, and a young lady. These were no ordinary group of people, for the old man was the Federation's leader himself, with his niece and security personnel.

One would assume that they were there for the purposes of Federation security, and yet even this state library-museum would seemingly have nothing to offer in that aspect. This was certainly the thought that the young lady, Subcommander Cheryl Augusta Major, was entertaining.

_This had better be related to my Section 31 investigation!_

The old man, meanwhile, saw right through his dear niece, through her curiosity, and through her frustrations.

"Why do you want to see me in this late hour - and here of all places?"

Perhaps the only thing he did not anticipate was the way she worded her question. He was hoping she would mention something about her investigation.

_Why didn't you mention your investigation? Or are you so close that you don't want to tell me the little things? Why?_

Was she really close to her goal of exposing and dismantling the "non-existent" organization, after all? Perhaps the information he had for her would help.

"I've got good news for you to report to your new colleagues at Starfleet Security."

_Really? I wonder why you, of all people, would get me back on track. Aren't you busy with the civil war?_

Then she saw her uncle turn to his security entourage and give them a head signal – one indicative of his desire for them to go back to the front door, leaving him and his niece in private. The guards nodded, and went on their way.

Meanwhile, the two of them proceeded towards a restricted-access room within the library-museum. Inside the room, what were once expressions of curiosity on Subcommander Major's face melted away and revealed a state of outright confusion.

"While the Trust has been doing its thing, Thomas Rutledge's special taskforce has acquired a first, solid lead on Section 31."

_What? That upstart Extraordinary Commission for State Security beat me to the punch? What the hell…?_

So much for the confusion, which melted away just as fast into an anger barely under control by a voice in her head.

_Quick! Acknowledge what he said! He shouldn't have to know about your frustrations regarding the inflexibility and ineptitude of the Starfleet Security bureaucracy! He's too burdened with the civil war!_

"Finally…" she squeaked.

"More on that tomorrow in my office - but that wasn't the reason why I wanted you here," the old man replied in a calm voice. A long pause followed.

_Huh? He summons me here – of all places – tells me he's got a lead on Thirty-One's machinations, and then NOTHING? What the hell's going on here?_

Subcommander Major was in the middle of conjuring more thoughts to the forefront of her attention when she saw her uncle was about to speak, and turned her attention towards him.

"You do know that this finding has only strengthened my skepticism of Starfleet Security. Either they're truly incompetent…"

_So you do know about them, after all…_

"… The belief of which I am only beginning to discount - or perhaps they're feigning such in order to obtain the perfect excuse they need to be another security organization to be granted the power of resorting to extraordinary measures."

A look of shock overtook Subcommander Major's face, as if a shuttle ran over her.

_How could you be that cynical? Have the years and the war finally taken a toll on you?_

Perhaps this particular thought could be re-phrased… perhaps.

"But…"

A look of concern cast itself upon the old man's face. Perhaps it was time to reveal his cognizance of his own niece's frustrations, before she would be as psychologically burdened as he.

"Even you are beginning to become frustrated working with them, maneuvering around their own little bureaucracy - right?"

"I don't know what to make of this," sighed his niece.

_Indeed – what to make not just about Starfleet Security's inflexibility, ineptitude, and now outright incompetence, but also about his intimate knowledge of YOUR burdens. Perhaps his cynicism WILL be your psychological redemption._

Listening to that voice in her head, Subcommander Major wanted to her more of her uncle's cynicism.

"It's 'human nature' - as was once said - to desire more power, in anything."

_Like I haven't heard that before…_

"The people in Starfleet Security and the agents of Section 31 are, in truth, more similar than most people know."

_Alright, I've got my own psychological burdens, but you are way out to lunch on left field!_

"The only real difference lies in how much they can wiggle around in order to achieve their goals."

_Perhaps his cynicism isn't so redemptive, after all…_

"Section 31? Its people care only about power for its own sake!" snapped the young lady.

An average old uncle would have rebuked an average niece for shouting at him, but these two individuals were beyond that. At a basic level, the Federation's leader had to move on calmly with what he had to say – which would undoubtedly shock her even further.

"Well, I think that now is the right time to explain why you and I are here in this restricted-access chamber of the library-museum, where a lot of state secrets are hidden until ready for de-classification. Do you remember the Organian Peace Treaty?"

_What does this have to do with Section 31? Perhaps something dismissive to end this wasteful time will do!_

"That was elementary-school material!"

Seeing beyond his niece's obvious frustrations, the old man felt a sense of duty to continue.

"You remember Kenneth Wescott, the one who preceded Lorne McLaren as Federation president?"

_Alright, so that remark didn't work. Perhaps ano…_

"See... Wescott, who presided during the rather brief Klingon-Federation war, was himself an agent of Section 31."

Mere words could not describe the shock engulfing Subcommander Major, as she confronted the voice in her head.

_Is he telling the truth, or has he gone crazy? I don't know what words to say!_

_Perhaps only one word will suffice._

One word…

"What?"


	3. Deception

**DECEPTION**

_What, indeed, could be asked further from him?_

_Perhaps only that one word will suffice._

_Perhaps he can assuage the shock._

As Subcommander Cheryl Augusta Major continued to hear the voice in her head, the response came slowly.

"Calm down, my dear," her uncle's soft voice echoed throughout the room.

_Finally._

Beneath all that veneer of calm was a sense of familial confidence. The young, resourceful woman would understand everything in due time, and this old man was more than eager to help her in this endeavour.

"Anyway, unknown to his secret comrades, he was quite idealistic…"

_That is unexpected and unbecoming of the enemy within, even of a young one!_

"His official stances while in office were for real, and when he met in secret, he paid lip service to pragmatism, successfully deceiving his comrades into thinking that his public idealism was a facade."

_Quite antithetical to the securitarian purpose of Section 31, wouldn't you say?_

The look of confusion quickly re-conquered the young woman's face. However, seeing the classified records control panel on the side, that conquest was short-lived. She would finally know the relevance of events that transpired two centuries ago to current events.

----------

Like two centuries into the future, the surface of Paradise was equally serene. This time, however, it was the serenity that presented itself like a calm night before a terrible storm. After all, the full might of the Klingon Defense Forces, with the perpetual war economy at peak supporting effectiveness and with the lack of internal geopolitical problems to confront since the sitting Chancellor of the High Council took power over an entire generation ago, was over the horizon.

Glimmering amongst the cityscape of Paris was the Palais de la Concorde, the old seat of Federation power – or the relative lack thereof. On the fifteenth floor of this prestigious building, currents of interstellar-scale thoughts pulsed the mind of its occupant.

_How could a relatively divided Federation – with its mix of republican institutions and semi-democratic aristocracies, coupled with its more drastic mix of peaceful and aggressive foreign-policy advocates from the individual members – withstand a more united and homogenous imperial power that embodied the perfect mixture of their warriors' virtues with glory and conquest?_

_How could the divisions not strengthen especially with the pervasive influence of our usually pragmatic "patriots" – those guided by the cause of a covert organization that predated the Federation itself? And what of my role in all of this, as both interstellar leader and one of them?_

For someone who was by far the youngest president in the Federation's history, even for two centuries afterwards, idealism and having many such currents pulse through his mind was quite normal.

But that was for the mind.

For the matter around him, on the other hand, he was faced with a holographic conversation with one Starfleet admiral Cartwright of the RADM-U rank, recently promoted from Commodore. Moreover, he was dealing with a fellow "patriot" – and one of the most hotheaded foreign-policy advocates in the entire Starfleet Admiralty.

"Do not forget your duty to the Federation, sir. As a fellow _agent_, you know that these TRASH of the galaxy have engaged in a 'cold war' of sorts with us for G-d knows how long!"

A look of surprise overtook the president's face.

_That is quite moderate of you, sir! For a man whose anti-Klingon credentials have been well established, you haven't resorted to your usually more "colourful" vocabulary._

Nevertheless, the president was more concerned about a different terminology being used, given historical implications.

"Yes, but I'm surprised at a small detail in your remarks."

Admiral Cartwright could not help but snap.

"Oh? And what detail would THAT be?"

_Surely you know all too well by now, or have current events overtaken your history lessons?_

A calm response was in order.

"Aren't you more accustomed to saying 'warm war' – given your past commands involving border skirmishes?"

Both men knew that what was said was a mere understatement, for Admiral Cartwright would never have risen to the Admiralty so quickly without having established his military credentials as the most decorated starbase commander to serve along the Federation-Klingon border. On his battle record are several key victories against intrusive Klingon border raiders, ranging from rogue warship commanders to established colonels probing for weaknesses in Starfleet's strategy.

That was merely the past. Both men knew of the admiral's strategic importance to Starfleet if, some day, he were to be a full admiral or higher – especially if war with the Klingons broke out.

"Whatever – political correctness does reign supreme in all of politics, you know."

_He just had to break out that worn-out term, didn't he?_

"Don't worry – I expect these 'non-aggression negotiations' to be rather brief, given the excess of territorial disputes and the simpleton nature of the Klingons."

Nothing could be further from the truth for the president. He studied the political and strategic maneuverings that led to the devastating Earth-Romulan War, the very war out of which the Federation was born. He did not want history to repeat itself on a more interstellar scale.

Only the words of Admiral Cartwright prevented additional currents of thought pulse through.

"And what if war breaks out?"

That was one hard question. Peace was his ideal, but on the other hand, he definitely did not want to appear to be an appeaser. At the most basic and personal level, that was grounds enough for Section 31 to terminate his affiliation with that organization in EVERY sense of the word. Perhaps the words of a more operational hawk would do.

"Then, as your friend and fellow agent Major West would say: we'll clean their chronometers."

----------

For all his inner confidence, the old man certainly failed to assuage the shock. While seeing the visual records, the young woman failed to react any other way.

_Talk about big trouble – how in blazes could Section 31 operate that openly back then?_

----------

In regards to time, the president realized that the conversation had to end.

"Anyhow, I've got some 'diplomatic matters' to attend to. Wescott out."

After pressing a button to end the holocommunication, entering his office was a very young Efrosian diplomat, Ra-ghoratreii.

Asked the rising star of the Diplomatic Corps, "How did the conversation go?"

Surprisingly, the president reclined on his chair and gave an unusually relaxed look. Kenneth Wescott was well known for giving only two impressions – a pensive look and a politically attentive one.

"Cartwright remains stubbornly militant and racist as usual, my friend. He has even gone to that point of raising the possibility of war all too early. I tell you: if you EVER discuss Federation-Klingon relations with him, Major West and their type, they'll try to win you out by using even the most minute of opportunities."

Ra-ghoratreii, on the other hand, never was pensive – even on interstellar affairs. His response came quickly.

"Like a border skirmish or two that they've fought?"

_What a question! Then again, the quick response was no surprise._

"Given the right circumstances…"

----------

A sense of trepidation overcame Subcommander Major. It was as if she were reading or viewing a suspense story.

_Did Ra-ghoratreii know all about Section 31?_

A suspense story that was real…


	4. Failed Idealism

**FAILED IDEALISM**

The current of suspense pervaded Subcommander Cheryl Augusta Major's mind, and this time was fed by the voice in her head. Probably she was not suspenseful enough.

_Did Ra-ghoratreii know all about Section 31?_

This was the question she kept asking herself. Slowly but surely, on the other hand, did the voice start to direct the suspense in a new direction.

Is there the possibility that Ra-Ghoratreii – the one man who personally signed the Khitomer Accords with the Klingon Empire many a year later – also was of Section 31 himself?

For a moment that seemed like an eternity, the young woman directed her thoughts to the new question asked in her head. On the other hand, all the knowledge she had up to that point would have gone completely against this new line of thought.

_That's impossible! Section 31's left hand should know what its right hand is doing, and vice versa!_

_What of groups within Section 31 itself, then?_

_This is conspiracy-theory garbage!_

_Section 31 epitomized conspiracy theory itself._

_It sure did._

All the while did she pay little attention to the old man in front of her, underestimating his cognitive abilities once more. Then, actual sound broke the physical silence in the room.

"During the peace negotiations, he didn't do much to try to salvage them, knowing full well that they would break down; he withdrew from his idealism."

Subcommander Major's attention was directed at the classified records control panel once more. For now, those records would tell of a leader still steeped in his idealism.

----------

Babel was not exactly the best place to salvage diplomatic relations with the Klingon Empire, let alone through distance diplomacy more suited for the reclusive Rihannsu. The Chancellor of the High Council initially demanded for the diplomatic maneuvers to be made on Qo'noS. Apparently seeing through the sheer arrogance of this man – whom Cartwright would certainly have called a "veQ" face to face – Kenneth Wescott feigned the impression of needing more time before the diplomacy took place. That impression, he later told his aides, served two purposes: to find out why his opposite was so arrogant, and to find an alternative diplomatic venue.

On the first issue, he found out about his opposite's paranoia regarding space travel.

_If I were the target of that many assassination attempts through sabotage – as well as struck that many times by the lightning of life-threatening ship problems beyond sabotage – I would do the exact same thing._

On the second issue, all but one of his aides suggested distance diplomacy between the two of them, but then pressured him to personally appear from Babel, the most prestigious diplomatic venue in the quadrant.

_Most of the diplomatic facilities are being renovated. How can I save myself from the kowtow-of-an-embarrassment that my advisers have led me to? Oh well, at least the misery can be shared with that Ambassador Kamarag!_

Then, he remembered the one thing that would prevent the ambassador from sharing his misery: that Klingons would not be bothered at all by hectic conditions such as the renovations, just as they would feel right at home with Spartan living conditions. If anything else, such conditions would keep Ambassador Kamarag psychologically focused on the task at hand, and away from succumbing to the architectural enhancements that made Babel more prestigious than even Camp Khitomer. If anything else, such conditions could possibly entice the unusually crafty ambassador to scheme to further embarrass him in full view of the Chancellor himself.

Fortunately for Wescott, that one aide of his who did not suggest appearing from Babel - Ra-ghoratreii himself – was there to act as a potential foil for any of the ambassador's verbal schemes.

----------

For a moment, the young woman could afford a chuckle that would brush aside all the questions and all the suspense.

_If only Wescott had appreciated the humour surrounding his circumstances… if only my uncle could appreciate the humour surrounding Wescott's circumstances… if only…_

_Perhaps the old man is tempted to chuckle._

----------

The time had come for distance diplomacy. In the center of a vast communications room stood the youngest president in the Federation's history, facing an enormous communications screen and with a communications console immediately in front of him. To his right stood his young Efrosian aide. To his left stood the unusually crafty Klingon ambassador and his two immediate aides. Behind them all stood those Federation aides who suggested the distance diplomacy that was about to transpire, and in a distant corner was a second communications console, one manned by an assistant.

The screen, which initially showed the seal of the very Federation whose fundamental laws Kenneth Wescott swore to preserve, protect, and defend upon his inauguration, showed the seal of what could eventually become the great enemy, should this attempt at salvaging diplomatic relations between the two interstellar powers fail. It then showed a visual of Wescott's opposite, the Chancellor of the High Council.

An unusually lengthy pause followed. Both heads of state were patiently expecting the other to initiate the dialogue. Wescott did not want to initiate it himself, having also found out that his opposite's arrogance, while providing a good cover for a deeper paranoia, was also an honest disposition. He felt that the waiting game on both their parts would serve to humble his opposite.

Suddenly, the look of patience on the face of the Chancellor of the High Council gave way to one of frustration.

"So, Mr. President, how long shall we stare at each other across the vast reaches of space? The Klingon Empire is tired of words, of negotiation, of the endless delaying tactics of the Federation!"

A look of surprise overtook the president's face in response to the tone in his opposite's voice. It started out in the expected tone of arrogance before transforming into an unexpectedly bellicose tone. Furthermore, the voice itself was not synthesized. To Wescott, it seemed that the Chancellor's opening words in plain English were a blatant attempt to insult the linguistic capabilities of every non-Klingon in the room.

_My, oh my. Cartwright was right about one thing: what a Klingon "husky" you really are!_

He knew he had to respond with at least one word in their language. He decided upon the Klingon word for "chancellor."

"As you know,_ Qang_, there is another alternative to this waiting game in your vain hope of receiving a verbal kowtow on my part…"

To his surprise, Wescott felt a right arm pressed against his chest, pushing him backwards slightly. Apparently, Ambassador Kamarag had stepped forward in an attempt to gain an immediate audience with the one whom he servilely swore absolute obedience to many a year ago. He then started barking in _tlhIngan Hol_, the language of the Klingon people.

Meanwhile, Ra-ghoratreii leaned towards Wescott's ear and started translating the Klingon ambassador's words, even while knowing that everyone in the room was equipped with a universal translator.

"Sir, the so-called 'Klingon devil' to your left is obsequiously begging for forgiveness from the 'honoured' Chancellor for his inability to 'teach' you to 'pay respectful attention' and beforehand give your so-called 'verbal kowtow' as an apology for not travelling all the way to Qo'noS."

A slight smirk showed on Wescott's face when he heard the Chancellor barking back towards his overly servile ambassador. The president could tell that the disturbed Chancellor meant to interrupt Ambassador Kamarag, all the while listening to the dubbed translation of his opposite's words in a synthesized voice, which was unexpectedly not unlike that of his opposite, given the advanced translation technology embedded within the communication systems in the room.

"You _petaQ jay'_! Who told you to speak out of your place?"

Ambassador Kamarag issued an apology before stepping back.

_Well, at least that eliminates the potential for him to embarrass me in full view of the Chancellor himself._

"Mr. President, you of all people know the Klingon Empire's reasonable conditions for the continued peaceful coexistence between our two interstellar powers…"

_Reasonable? Yeah, I'll bet!_

Wescott turned his head and eyes to take a glimpse at the Klingon ambassador to his left, who in his expectedly servile behaviour in full view of his superior was nodding continuously. What surprised the president, though, was that the ambassador's two immediate aides were also nodding.

_Major suck-ups, indeed!_

"Mr. President, we find the Federation's request that we cede outright the Khitomer sector and an appropriate passage corridor to it – albeit in exchange for the Federation ceasing all protests and countermoves regarding our 'illegal' military buildup in the Archanis sector, as well as for Federation recognition of Klingon jurisdiction over the Capella, Donatu, Organia, and Tellun star systems – rather insulting and provocative. Don't you realize that our claim to Khitomer and the surrounding territory is both ancient and indisputable? Klingon blood was spilled to conquer that entire sector. Read your history textbooks!"

For a moment, Wescott was tempted to take a condescending glimpse at the continuously nodding Klingons to his left, but felt the need to press his points immediately.

"Overall, Mr. Chancellor, this deal is much more beneficial to your people than it is to mine. I suggest you give me a few seconds right now to dismiss everyone else in this room so that I can speak with you alone on this matter."

As the president spoke, he lifted both his arms and pointed them sideways as a gesture for everyone to leave the room.

"Very well."

Wescott could see his opposite signalling everyone near him to leave before turning to face the screen.

"Oh, and Ambassador Kamarag, leave him now!"

----------

The young woman was contemplating what was about to happen. She knew that what was about to transpire next would lead to little more than a Klingon ultimatum. Nevertheless, she admired this Section 31 agent for his resolve.

----------

Kenneth Wescott stood alone in the communications room. Even the assistant who manned the more distant of the room's two communications consoles left. While in public diplomacy he felt that his humility was more of a liability, the privacy now afforded him by the empty room turned that liability into an asset.

"Now, allow me to be candid with you, SIR. I know personally the history behind your understandable paranoia regarding space travel, but I also know your unreasonable arrogance. While none who were in this room, and even Starfleet Intelligence itself, are aware of the strategic implications of these negotiations, I am! I know, and I'm sure your intelligence advisers know as well, of the Elasian dilithium deposits within the Tellun star system, which the Klingon Empire needs much more than the Federation does."

The Chancellor jerked forward angrily.

"How do you know? Some traitor within my ranks?"

"If there were such, I would have been a party to this information much earlier, and Starfleet Intelligence would have known about all this by now. If you'll allow me to continue sharing my knowledge of the strategic situation with you…"

A look of reluctance showed on the Chancellor's face.

"Very well!"

"Good! From here on in, I will refer to the Klingon designation for the period of time beginning with year 1 of your people's calendar – Imperial Reckoning – instead of the Common Era of our current calendar."

_Perhaps now the Chancellor will be in a mood to talk!_

Indeed. The look of reluctance on the Chancellor's face gave way to one of satisfaction.

"Well, well, well! This, Mr. President, has so much more value to me than the 'verbal kowtow' I had expected from you earlier! Go on."

Kenneth Wescott then summoned the words in his mind to his mouth, while curiosity overtook the Chancellor.

"While most within our respective intelligence communities know of the relatively precarious security situation of your primary energy production facility near the Romulan border – and I'm sure this is why your intelligence community has suggested securing the Elasian dilithium deposits and lesser deposits along our mutual border – even they do not know what I and a select few in the entire Federation, and perhaps even in the Klingon Empire itself, know: that your overall energy production capability is very precarious, even when faced with rising demand."

Suddenly, Wescott's opposite surprisingly showed anger.

"You lie!"

_Don't be so preposterous!_

"Sir, there are three problems factoring in all of this! I have alluded to the one of interstellar security, and here is where Khitomer comes in. Starfleet, upon hearing the possibility of Khitomer changing to Federation jurisdiction, drafted quite quickly plans to establish key starbases and outposts in that sector and to extend our sophisticated long-range sensor networks along the Federation-Romulan border to the Khitomer sector itself, thus enabling us to track Romulan movements across the Neutral Zone more effectively."

There was a short pause, since the Chancellor was absorbing the words being said.

"And how does this benefit us?"

_Benefit indeed!_

"We have the classified sensor technology that enables us to monitor potentially hostile Romulan movements toward your primary energy production facility nearby. In turn, we will relay such movements immediately to your adequate defense fleets, outposts, and starbases near that facility, not wanting to tilt the balance of power towards the one interstellar power the Federation's members have already fought a full-scale war with."

_You know, I came into these talks expecting that they would break down, and yet I'm surprised that the elderly statesman who is on that screen has taken my humility very seriously. Perhaps there is a slim chance the talks will end up in something productive._

"Tal'Ihnor is certainly a star system worth paying attention to, but a Federation-controlled Khitomer will allow your fleets to be within striking range of it!"

_Good point? Not!_

"Even in their present patrol positions, you and your intelligence community should already know by now that elements of Starfleet's First Fleet are already within sufficient striking range of Tal'Ihnor! This is where your military buildup in the Archanis sector comes in: at the present, I can see that it is little more than a salient that can be easily overrun…"

The Chancellor growled slightly upon hearing those words.

"However, with sufficient defenses – starbases, outposts, defense satellites, and so on – your salient can be turned into an easily defendable position from which to launch decisive retaliatory attacks on our territory, should we somehow feel inclined to do the same on your territory from our position at Khitomer."

A longer pause followed, since Wescott himself needed a few deep breaths.

"In spite of all this, although the securing of many – if not most – of the dilithium deposits along our mutual border may or may not address this problem of yours in part, there are two more problems."

"Go on!"

"While I am aware of the innovativeness of Klingon military science, it has been the contrary with regards to energy production efficiency for the past century. Starting sixteen years ago, in fact, energy production surpassed mineral extraction as the single largest contributor to the Klingon Empire's aggregate economic output."

"Why haven't my non-military advisers told me of this?"

"Perhaps because they think wrongfully that the increased aggregate economic output resulting from bigger increases in energy production is a good thing. This leads to the third problem, which is one closer to you than you think."

Now it seemed to the younger of the two statesmen that there was more than just a slim chance for the talks to end up in something really productive.

"Oh? And what would that be?"

"You need only look at your recent history regarding Praxis, sir. Early in this 16th century of your Imperial Reckoning, your homeworld's sole moon fell victim to more serious and frequent mining accidents, while at the same time yielding over a third of its mass to mining operations. Just after you yourself took power over an entire generation ago, a recognizable portion of the moon's southern hemisphere collapsed in a large explosion which was equally recognizable from the surface of Qo'noS in the broad daylight. Afterwards, several ecological calamities rocked the moon's structure to the point where you yourself forbade the construction of new mines on that world and ordered immediate efforts to strengthen the moon's weakening structural integrity… seven years ago…"

"You sound like a computer library!"

"The point, sir, is that Starfleet has the structural integrity field technology that your people desperately need for Praxis! Seven years is too long a timeframe to address this type of problem, and I know of your continuous lack of government funds needed to rectify the pollution problem on that moon."

The Chancellor then became further upset at what he perceived to be the diplomatic equivalent of a dishonourable Klingon merchant's sales pitch, not to mention the additional excess knowledge which he himself did not know of at all.

"Bah! Our scientists and engineers will have solved this problem on their own by the end of our next five-year plan – in eight years' time! Oh, and what will prevent our intelligence services from duplicating or stealing outright your structural integrity field technology?"

_I don't think this unreasonably arrogant Klingon understands the full ramifications. Will he ever?_

"Sir, even if your intelligence agents successfully duplicated or stole outright our technology, your scientists and engineers could only develop fully an equivalent compatible with Klingon technology in four years' time, and that is because we know more about civilian Klingon technology than you do about our equivalent. By then, however, it will be too late. In spite of your measures, without that technology, the probability that Praxis will explode outright before the end of your current 'five-year plan' is astronomically high. Such an explosion has been projected to cause deadly pollution to your very homeworld's ozone, pollution that will deplete that ozone completely approximately fifty years afterwards."

After those words, a prolonged pause occurred, the longest throughout this private conversation.

_That should get his attention._

Indeed. A smile showed on the Chancellor's face, but the president could tell that things were about to turn for the worse.

"You know, I was long ago tired of dishonourable Klingon merchants making sales pitches for their petty goods on the streets during my childhood and adolescence. Hear these five official demands well, Mr. President: We demand that you drop your childish demand for the Khitomer sector and the related passage corridor! We demand that you cease all protests and countermoves regarding our rightful military buildup in the Archanis sector! We demand that you share with us your 'sophisticated long-range sensor network' technology for development and deployment along our borders, as well as the technology needed to improve our energy production efficiency! We demand Federation recognition of Klingon jurisdiction over all disputed star systems along our mutual border! Most of all, we demand that you share with us your structural integrity field technology! Let there be no mistake and no misinterpretation of my words! If your Federation wants war by not meeting all these demands, then that will be its problem! It is up to your Federation to decide whether there will be war or peace!"

_So much for the negotiations._

"Since you have inadvertently quoted a rather boorish historical figure in Earth's past, allow me to paraphrase his foil: Then, Mr. Chancellor, there will be a war. It will be a cold, long winter."

Wescott pressed a button on his communications console, and the image of the Chancellor was then replaced by one of the Federation's seal.

----------

The young woman was still in the midst of absorbing the material of the classified records, but she knew what was about to happen next.

_Now things will get rather interesting._

_Indeed._


End file.
